Blind Justice
by Katritam
Summary: He was dressed all in black; even his face had been darkened for the bust. His hair was a tangled snarled mess. His face was hidden behind shiny black duct tape, bruises and blood. To a child, he probably looked terrifying. *Or the one where blindfolded and beaten, Vin is held prisoner with the abducted victims of a child trafficking ring*
1. Angels Fall

A/N - - So, I haven't posted for Mag 7 for many a long while, but I've been working on this particular story for ages - its the blindfolded kidnapped Vin story referenced in Psychobabble that so many people expressed an interest in seeing in full. It's now finally at a stage where I'm comfortable to start posting. so please enjoy. That being said, I have posted the first chapter here, but the remainder will only be posted to my AO3 account (Same username: Katritam) due to fanficdotnet's rules regarding sexually explicit content - so if you wish to read further than the fluffy first chap you'll need to trundle on over there :)

TRIGGER WARNING: Please take note of the tags and warnings for this story. It does deal with the sexual, physical and mental abuse of children, and adults. I have, to the best of my ability, treated the subject matter with respect and realism, and I have also avoided anything too overtly graphic, but the subject matter is definitely very prevalent to the story and has a huge impact on characters personal arcs.

* * *

 _When somewhere?_

 _A plea, a sigh…_

 _And a man wakes in darkness, of depravity and sight_

 _And he gathers to his heart, these children lost to light._

 _And heroes?_

 _Heroes always fight._

* * *

Part 1: Angels Fall

"For god's sake Ez, it's just a cold, not the damn plague!" Vin moaned as he shoved his hands deeper into the opposite sleeves of his sweater. Hunching against the bitter breeze, he followed Ezra up the short stretch of pavement.

Keying his code into the security system, Ezra unlocked and stepped into the sheltering warmth of his home, turning to hold the door open for his friend, who was busy studiously stomping every drip of grey sleety slush from his boots. With a put upon sigh, Ezra reached out, fisted a handful of damp wool, and with a sharp tug, propelled Vin into the room, shutting the door behind them.

The southerner chose to view the sparkling blue eyes as a result of the fever Vin had no doubt developed, rather than amusement at his encouraged breaking of Ezra's usually inflexibly enforced rule of 'mud and muck out – or _you're_ out'.

Definitely the fever.

Speaking of, as he shed his damp suit coat, Ezra answered the muffled complaint he probably wasn't supposed to have heard, "So. You admit that it _is_ a cold then. And here I seem to recall you assuring me it was 'just the sniffles' as we left the office earlier."

Giving in gracefully to Ezra's 'clicky fingers', Vin shrugged out of his own coat, handing it off to the grinning southerner as he sighed, caught by his own words, "Yeah, fine. I have a cold. _Just a cold._ I don't need to be seeing no doctor."

Hanging the leather monstrosity next to his own tailored coat, Ezra was strangely bemused by how reassuring he found the utterly ridiculous visual image. His eyes mapped the battered, scarred surface of the pale tan hide, supple and treasured, rubbing sleeves with his own barely worn, and completely impersonal, dark grey cashmere.

"As reassuring as I might find that, Mr Tanner, the last time you had ' _just a cold_ ', you still managed to end up in hospital with pneumonia." Ezra disregarded the slight twinge of guilt at the pink that stained across the already flushed cheekbones, the fathomless fear of hacking coughs and breathless gasping still fresh horror in his memory.

Vin ran his fingers through damp windswept hair, shuddering as dislodged droplets of snow crawled their way down the back of his neck with icy fingers, his voice not nearly as biting as it could have been, as he answered, "I know. I was there too, remember. That's why I'm here."

Ezra snorted inelegantly, but good grace settled over him as he replied, "Not quite true. You seemed rather content to hide out at our office. You're here because I stumbled over you and asked."

"Asked! Was very hard to say no when the only other option was hospital." Vin shot back, bending to loosen the laces on his boots, ignoring the temptation to toe them off, knowing that it would weaken and stretch the leather and end up costing him more in the long run when he had to replace them sooner.

Slipping his own loafers off neatly by the door, Ezra looked down, watching shaking fingers peek from overly loose sweater cuffs to pick ineffectively at tight wet laces. Almost forgetting his trademark groan of discontent, he dropped down with a sigh, gently shouldering Vin's hand and upper body out of the way. He ignored Vin's scowl in favour of silently assessing the fact that the Texan was suddenly several shades paler.

Half to take Vin's mind of his less than completely independent state, let alone the fact that apparently he _didn't even have to be completely independent_ , and just because he was naturally curious, Ezra asked, "You also had one further option. I did offer to convey you to the ranch".

Vin all but cringed, and Ezra stilled in response, his full attention turning to whatever had upset the young man, "Vin? Did something-" he started to ask, but Vin relaxed with a shake of his head, his hands once again carding through tangled hair as he answered.

"What? No, Chris is just..." Vin bit his lip, before continuing, "Chris just really ain't in the mood for company this week, Ez."

Ezra nodded, understanding immediately.

 _Chris and Sarah's anniversary. Adams birthday. The day Adam called him 'daddy'. The last day he spoke to them. The day they died._

Ezra didn't know which one it was, but he understood.

They all did, and while Chris had certainly clawed his way (or been dragged kicking and screaming by one particularly stubborn Texan) back from the dark, sometimes all the light in the world wasn't enough to illuminate certain shadows.

Ezra also knew, that come hell or high water, Chris would have accepted Vin at the ranch in a heartbeat. Tonight or any night.

But sometimes, you just have to face the shadows alone.

Turning back to the laces, Ezra levered one boot off and reached for the other, but stopped when Vin's hand settled over his wrist and the he spoke, accent more pronounced around the unsure words.

"Iffn I'm- I mean… I know you 'preciate your 'lone time after work and at the weekend and I don't wanna cause you an-"

Ezra took over, his own imitation of a Texan drawl something to marvel at or be terrified by, as he interrupted, "-any grief. Don't wanna mess up your house. I can always stay at the office or go home o-", Ezra paused his stolen Vin-spiel, hands still firm about one slim booted ankle.

Green eyes found unreadable blue and Ezra continued in his own voice, "Except- no, you cannot go home, because your home has no power and it's below freezing out, and you cannot go back to the office because I've got spare bedrooms to spare and spare care to spare and my 'alone time' doesn't apply to family."

Possibly realising that he'd said more than he'd actually intended, Ezra coughed slightly to cover the odd burn in his chest and added a pointed, "So there.", as he yanked off the second boot.

Vin just grinned, accepted a hand up and allowed himself to be herded into the 'living room'. He was pushed down onto one of the ridiculously soft couches and promptly half-swallowed by mink blankets and afghan throws, as Ezra used a little more of that 'spare care' he'd alluded to a moment ago.

"Can I interest you in an evening meal?" The southerner asked, after he'd retuned with a glass of water and the small stash of Vin-safe medication that all seven kept at their various places of habitation, on the off chance (certainty) that they'd somehow (don't ask how) end up playing host (prison-guard) to a less than well (half-dead) Texan.

Eyeing the meds with distaste as he downed the water, and all but _snuggled_ deeper into his cocoon, Vin shook his head as he replied, "No thanks, I'm not really hungry. I'll just, uh- go to sleep", and he rolled over, smooshed his face into the back of the couch and seemed to do exactly that.

Ezra stared for a moment, not sure that the mischievous prankster wasn't having him on, but when the soft snuffling snores of a slightly congested sharpshooter reached his ears moments later, he shrugged, and although not convinced the other man could actually breath adequately with his face half devoured by the couch, at least he was warm and comfortable.

Flicking the light out behind him, Ezra padded out of the room on quiet feet.

* * *

Several hours later, bringing it to a more reasonable 11pm bedtime for undercover agents, Ezra slipped back down the hall and into the lounge, setting the lights to 'dim' and turning on the one closest to the hall, and not directly over the sofa.

The spreading glow of soft artificial illumination revealed an empty seat.

Not willing to panic just yet, having done so a few winters ago at Chris's ranch one evening, only for several pyjama clad men to find Vin asleep out on the back porch 20 minutes and much frantic worry later.

Ezra turned the lights up slightly and stepped further into the room, calling, "Vin?" softly.

No reply greeted him, and he turned to check the most likely suspects, i.e. - the bathroom, the kitchen, the balcony or the rooftop.

And almost walked into the largest pile of ambulatory laundry he'd ever had the misfortune of almost walking into.

Actually, and this was such a small distinction that Ezra didn't really mind the misidentification, he'd almost walked into Vin wrapped in at least four of the blankets, sleepy blue eyes and a few errant curls the only visible features, even mouth and nose tucked beneath layers of cotton, mink and wool.

The blanket monster blinked, and a slightly bamboozled sheen joined the sleepy fog. A rather muffled, barely audible voice somehow managed to ask, with remarkable clarity, "Ez?" as if Vin couldn't quite work out why his friend was in front of him.

Despite the inherent amusement, and perhaps some form of very masculine adoration that Ezra felt for his bewildered friend, it was underpinned with a decent level of niggling worry as well, because Vin was one of the most astute, sharp-minded men he knew, and this confusion was slightly concerning.

"You are spending the weekend at my locale, as you yourself are without power and amenities at your apartment- remember?" he asked, waiting patiently as Vin worked through the words and then relaxing as comprehension dawned and settled, blue eyes becoming more or less focused, if a little glassy.

"Yeah- I rem'ber. Sorry, was sleeping. Ez- It jus' me or's it cold 'n here? M'be ya jus' got cold blankets…" Vin asked, eyes riveted on Ezra, waiting to accept whatever answer the other man gave.

"Cold?" Ezra raised an eyebrow. The whole complex was internally heated, and he always had it set on a pleasant compromise. As far as he was concerned, the temperature was quite agreeable.

But then, _he_ wasn't running a fever.

"My oversight Mr Tanner, I should have turned on one of the bedroom heaters for you. I shall remedy this oversight immediately, but for now, why don't you…shuffle... your way to the kitchen and I will get you some tea to warm you." Ezra suggested, turning the cooperatively nodding mountain of blankets in the right direction, before ducking back down the hallway.

The second bedroom from his own wasn't the largest, didn't have the highest state of technological advancement, nor was it the most well lit, instead, the average sized bedroom had a gorgeous view from its full wall sized window, of the sprawling wooded mountain in the close distance.

Ezra flicked the heater on and ramped up the thermostat, wanting the room to warm quickly so he could get Vin back to sleep as soon as possible. He also turned down the bed and placed a glass of water on the bedside table. Just because it seemed prudent to do so. He managed to stop short of fluffing the pillows. Mostly.

A strange sense of Déjà Vu swept over him as he entered the kitchen to find it empty, but a quick traverse back down the hall found him stumbling across the blanketed form leaning against the dining room window, staring out at the hazy glow of stars.

"Come on, you can see the stars form the kitchen window as well, I assure you." He teased gently, grinning at the much more switched-on look (glare) Vin shot him as they moved at a slow shamble to the kitchen.

With Vin parked at the table, Ezra flicked his coffee machine on and left it to prep, turning to lean against the counter and look at his impromptu houseguest.

"What brand of tea would you prefer, Vin?" he asked, wondering if the younger man might like plain black tea, or something on the calming side.

"Coffee?" came the unexpected, yet completely predictable answer.

"Tea. Black tea, Camomile tea or Nathan's tea. Any _tea._ " Ezra responded, his answer firm, because there was no way he was giving Vin Tanner coffee, when it was steadily approaching midnight, never mind the fact that the man was sick.

Vin grimaced, the disdain clearly visible in his eyes, as his muffled voice replied, "Don't much like tea. Unless…"

"Unless?" Ezra prompted gently, hearing the almost hesitant undercurrent of Vin's voice.

Shrugging, Vin answered with forced nonchalance, "Have you got any with lemon?"

Ezra's gentle query of, "Your Mother?" was met with an almost shy nod, and they lapsed into silence as he hunted down the unopened box of camomile and lemon, leaving Vin to one of so few pleasant childhood memories.

When Vin shook the memory clear a moment later, and offered him a grateful smile, Ezra wasn't sure whether the gratitude was for prompting the memory in the first place, or not pressing for more details. Either way, he returned the smile with one of his own.

The comfortable silence was broken when Vin heaved a sigh and burrowed further into his blankets. Ezra was sure he could hear teeth chattering and he opened his mouth to ask how Vin was feeling, but the other man beat him to it.

"I'm fine." was the pre-emptive answer, and the sparkle of wicked blue eyes said he was well aware what he'd been about to be asked.

With a shake of his head, Ezra pulled out a seat and dropped down beside him, replying, "I didn't ask."

"But you were 'bout to." Came the matter of fact reply as Vin leaned forward to prop one elbow on the table and rest he head against his raised hand. It all looked very odd beneath the pile of blankets.

Ezra nodded his capitulation, adding, "I surrender unto worship of your astonishing foresight, Oh great and noble Tanner. Who, apart from being this tremendous psychic, is also a lying liar. Unless fine is the new description of a fevered, headache stricken, shivering, fatigued, excessively stubborn and yet wholly compassionate individual. _"_

Vin nodded half-heartedly and mumbled "Exactly."

Ezra grinned in reply, but turned serious for a moment as he voiced what he'd been feeling since he'd somehow managed to convince Vin to come home with him earlier that evening, "Seriously though. We both know how quickly these things can turn on you. With that thin Texan blood of yours…I don't suddenly want to be dealing with bronchitis or similar. I really think you ought to allow me to-"

"No! No doctor. I ain't-" Vin broke in, interrupting with adamant refusal, underpinned with fear that Ezra could barely detect. Vin was unwilling to budge, and unwilling to be made to budge.

Ezra sighed, continuing, "It's alright. I wasn't going to suggest calling a doctor."

Vin settled back into his relaxed slump, head pounding anew after the sudden rush of adrenaline.

Ezra added, "I was going to suggest calling Nathan."

Ezra, always fascinated by human reaction, noted that the underlay of fear of the suggestion of medical assistance was no longer present, and he congratulated himself on being right. It wasn't the idea of being checked over that was unsettling Vin, it was the medical profession itself.

As curious as he might be, and as much as he hoped that one day Vin would tell him what the fear stemmed from, today was not going to be that day. Not when Vin was off his game and ill, vulnerable, and under Ezra's protection and care, despite neither one having said any such thing.

Tonight Ezra would just focus on the other side of the equation.

Vin trusted Nathan.

"Just to be on the safe side. Mr Jackson seems quite determined to keep you in one piece and I doubt he would begrudge a call regarding your health", Ezra continued.

Vin sighed, obviously torn. On one hand, he honestly did trust Nathan. He might have bigger issues than a fish in a desert, as far as doctors and the like were concerned, but as far as friends went, Nathan was as solid and dependable as any he'd ever had.

It would also make Ezra feel better. Obviously, what with the way the man was hovering over him like some mama bear.

Vin wasn't telling anyone, but he kind of liked it.

Different to Chris's overprotective guff, or Nathan's blistering tirades that always just sound like "I care" to Vin…but it had the same unfamiliar warmth to it.

But then…

"Nathan's with Raine this weekend, remember? Treating her to a romantic dinner and relax'n getaway. Don't wanna be no bother. _Its jus' a cold._ " Vin answered, eyes flickering back to the table, somewhere in the vicinity of his blanket covered hands.

Ezra sighed, because he'd love find the person who taught Vin the word 'bother' and punch their front teeth out. And while he was at it, words like 'burden', 'inconvenience' and 'hassle' too.

He wouldn't even care if blood got on his best suit.

"Nathan wouldn't- actually, he probably would mind… but I'm sure he's going to _mind_ a whole lot more if you end up with pneumonia again." Ezra tried to reason.

Vin, though, had made up him mind, saying, "Nope, Just a cold. I'll drink some of that _tea_ , take some of those _pills_ , and sleep till _lunch_. But I ain't bother'n Nathan."

And a Vin who had made up his mind was a stalwart creature, impossible to be persuaded, convinced, or bribed.

They could however, on occasion, be _bargained with._

"I'll make you a deal. 102 degrees is considered a mild to moderate fever. If your temperature is over 102, I call Nathan", the Southerner bargained, his keen gaze riveted on Vin.

In some ways, it was almost a challenge.

The way Ezra said it, it was definitely a challenge.

"I guess 102's runnin' pretty warm. And me bein' the del'cate flower I am…I s'pose that's fair", Vin yielded.

Ezra fetched the thermometer, and after a miraculous revelation of a whole head beneath those blankets, he'd had to marvel, because, for the first time in recorded history, a conscious, sound-minded Vin Tanner, let a digital thermometer be placed under his tongue with nary a word of complaint, nor one scowl.

Nathan was going to pay a veritable _mint_ for this method. Hell, if Ezra was feeling charitable, he might even let it go for a steal, like say… one of Nathan's steak sandwiches.

While waiting, rather than sit and stare at Vin and his thermometer, which could very well turn out to be a rather dangerous pastime, Ezra set about filling two cups, and procuring the tea bags.

Turning back to the table, preparing himself to be hunted by dark malevolent eyes, Ezra instead had to smile at the tousled head that was pillowed on folded arms, slumped across the table, blue eyes closed.

As if feeling the scrutiny, Vin mumbled around the protruding thermometer, "I'm sti' awake, sto' star'ng."

Ezra snorted again, something that he was starting to notice Vin brought out in him, as he replied, "Stop speaking, you're still recording". As he finished, a small metallic beep proved him wrong.

The thermometer was out of Vin's mouth before Ezra could say anything, and blue eyes scanned the small digital surface, before he looked up and said, "So. Over 102 and you're callin' Nate?"

Ezra nodded, reaching for the thermometer, which Vin clutched to his chest as he continued, "You promise? If it's not over 102, I can just stay here?"

Ezra stilled, wondering where this was coming from, or going, but answered honestly, "You are of course welcome to stay here, even should we end up requiring Nathan's expertise, but regardless, I give my word Mr Tanner. "

Vin nodded at the unexpected reassurance, but his words were calculating as he spoke, " _How far over 102?_ " risking a glance up at his con artist friend.

Ezra kept his lips from twitching as ' _got you'_ ran though his mind, and gently prying the thermometer away, he carefully enunciated, "Point. One. Degree."

Looking down, his eyebrows twitched as he read _102._

A _perfect_ 102.

Ezra was held vigorously to his word.

Nathan was not called.

"The size of that cup is not concealing the width of your smirk, Mr Tanner" Ezra quipped, hiding his own amused smile behind matching tea cup.

* * *

Fingers cradled around comfortingly warm porcelain, Ezra relaxed back in his seat, the soothing taste of chamomile chasing the burst of subtle lemon across his tongue. Midnight chimed from the old grandfather clock that he kept locked up in his office, a hidden sentimentality. The rich mahogany and golden accents were mere youthful symbolism, heavy with once-upon-a-times yearnings and longings, for stability, roots, _family._

Cravings he barely cared to remember, that were never fulfilled.

Until now.

27 years old and he was, for all intents and purposes, living in the lap of luxury. His apartment was certainly on the higher end of the market, boasting everything from heated flooring to environmental control. The four bay garage was host to just one vehicle, but his baby was hardly 'just' a vehicle. His bank accounts were more than healthy, enabling him to live his life with every thinkable modern convenience and personal extravagance he could wish for.

And yet?

The one thing that made him feel richer than the average man, was sitting across the table from him.

One of his friends.

And the fact that he could use a plural in regard to that subject would forever blow his mind.

This friend in particular though, struck a chord deep within Ezra: of camaraderie, protectiveness, admiration, exasperation…of brotherhood.

This man across the table from him; a taciturn loner, as hard and unforgiving as the wild rocky landscapes he loved, and as cold and dangerous as the prairie animals his spirit embodied. Quiet and self-contained and reserved.

Sitting across from him, bundled up in blankets, head pillowed on one arm, blue eyes gazing at him sleepily through the rising steam of his barely touched tea.

The friend who'd put himself out of his own home, paying for the power and heat of two destitute neighbours, despite knowing that this would result in his own power being left unpaid, leaving him to the mercy of the frigid December weather.

And now, cold, tired and ill, Vin still smiled across at him, that look of slight wonderment on his face; as if a bed and a cup of tea were of the highest value. As kind and generous as he was gentle and spirited, Vin Tanner was without a doubt one of the most infuriatingly wonderful people Ezra had ever met.

And with five others who equalled him in many different ways, Ezra knew he had just as extravagant taste in friends as he did anything else.

Only the best.

As if sensing the deepening of his thoughts, Vin shifted slightly, breathing in the heavy steam trails, and said with a low drawling rasp, "Stop looking at me like I'm some saint. Mrs Carlyle has three little'uns and Mr Humphries is as old as the sun. 's just the right thing to do. I know you'd have done the 'xact same thing."

Ezra allowed himself a forgiving nod, because it was true; he would have paid the power in an instant, but it wouldn't have left him penniless. Like it had Vin, who'd still done it.

He could tell himself that it had been based on a decision wherein Vin thought that being the tough young male specimen he was, that cold winter nights would have no impact on his health.

Yet he knew the truth was that _not helping_ hadn't even crossed Vin's mind, consequences be damned.

Determined that Vin should hear what he had to say on the matter, but not willing to belittle what the man had done, Ezra spoke with gentle firmness, "A saint? Perhaps not. But it was still a very kind thing to do. If rather ill advised, for as much as you may not want to hear it, I am selfish enough and honest enough to admit that I value your life, my friend, over that of Mr Humphries and Mrs Carlyle... and her children. And I won't hear differently from you on the matter, who seems to believe that every life is more valuable than his own."

Vin didn't say anything, which only confirmed Ezra's words. The Texan had just learned not to argue issues like this one, as he never won.

Ezra went on, "It is a trend within our group, perhaps even in a certain percentage of the human race, to place higher value on the lives of other than our own, but while it would upset me to hear that Mrs Carlyle's children had died... It would be an inconsequential blow compared to your demise."

Vin had the good grace to blush, as he said, "Wouldn't want nothing to happen to you either Ez... But Mrs Carlyle's little ones are weaker and more 'sceptible to the cold..."

"And you're the big tough ATF agent who's impervious to bullets, knives and the weather... who is currently in my kitchen, looking decidedly peaked." Ezra snarled, but continued as Vin's face fell, "My apologies, it was not my intention to harp. I have nothing to say that you have not heard many times over. There have just been too many close calls Mr tanner, and I would be devastated should one in the future hit its mark and take you from us."

Vin sighed, "I know, but I had no choice. I couldn't just let-"

"I know you could not Mr Tanner, and would never ask it of you. All I want to press home is that you could have come to one of us...to me, for assistance."

Vin was silent, caught in yet another instance of being too independent, too cautious and untrusting, and didn't know what to say.

Ezra took in the hooded blue eyes tracking nothing past his left shoulder, the slight vibrations of barely noticeable shivers and the heightened colour over pale cheeks, and took pity on his friend.

Rinsing his own empty mug, he reached for Vin's mostly full one, saying, "To bed I think, Mr Tanner. Inhaling the steam is only good for so long as there is steam to inhale, and it must surely be growing cold. I certainly don't wish you to chill along with it. Neither do you, not if you wish to avoid Nathan, next time we test your temperature."

"Next time!" Vin mock wailed, "What next time?" gratefully allowing the uncomfortable subject manner to fade as followed Ezra from the kitchen, blankets dragging across carpet and hardwood in his wake.

* * *

When Ezra stumbled his way out of bed at 7:30 am on Saturday morning, unable to ignore the pressure of imminent bladder explosion any longer, he was mildly surprised to find that Vin was still asleep in the room two doors down.

For Vin, who usually rose when the horizon was still dark, and inhaled his first cup of coffee with the dawning of each day, to be still in bed at this hour, told Ezra more about his state of health than the man himself ever would.

Ezra's own reputation as a distinctly _not-early_ riser, would also have taken a hit, had any of the team been present that Saturday morning, to witness as he showered, dressed and brewed coffee, all before 8am.

Sipping his first, and most definitely _much needed_ mug of his favourite aromatic brew, Ezra knocked gently on the door to Vin's room. Seconds later, he knocked harder, growing faintly concerned when there was no response from his unwell house guest.

He'd knocked a third time and spoke aloud, calling, "Mr Tanner? Is everyth-"

The door swung open, Vin speaking groggily, "Huh, Ez? Wha-", he cut himself off in surprise as he tried to step back quickly to avoid Ezra's raised fist thumping against his chest, but only managed to stumble over the blanket he'd decided to drag from the bed for the meter long trek to the door.

Quickly altering his knock to a grabbing motion, Ezra started to stabilise the tottering Texan with a hand to the shoulder. Upon moving his focus up from the blanketed upper body and seeing the sleep-bruised eyes and the sheen of sweat beading of a wash of grey chalky skin, he changed his course of action and propelled Vin across the room, until the younger man hit the bed and he plopped into a seated position.

The southerner blanched at the same time Vin did, although for decidedly different reasons. Vin's sudden grimace was likely in direct correlation to the way he swayed where he sat, Ezra's more in reaction to his wondering if Nathan would kill him when he found out that he'd been an accomplice to Vin's 'avoid Nathan' course of action.

All but dropping the half full cup of coffee onto the bedside table, Ezra used his now free hand in a much more useful manner, namely waving it about frantically in the air as he spoke, "How did this- You look terrible! Sit- just…Mr Jackson is going to have my innards for outers! Oh-"

Vin just stared, wondering what had Ezra in such a state.

Finally, and only when Ezra seemed set to start hyperventilating, Vin cut in, "Ez? I'm fine."

At least that served to calm the other man down, although, unfortunately in didn't last long.

Ezra breathed in deeply, a settling breath. Then he did it again. Then he spoke, although admittedly, he didn't sound very settled. "You're- You're _fine?!_ Fine! You look like- Okay. Sit. Be _fine_. I'm going to call Mr Jackson. "

Vin had been sitting relatively still, watching his friend overreact with some level of ingrained amusement, always there to be gained at the expense of those who dealt with him on a regular occurrence. At the mention of calling Nathan though, he suddenly had a lot more to say.

"No. you can't- I." Vin said, agitatedly pulling slightly away from the hand still resting on his shoulder.

Ezra stilled his restless fidgeting, a level true calm settling over him as he realised that Vin was actually attempting to put distance between himself and the crazed version of his worried friend. His voice was much more reasonable as he replied, "You look like death warmed over- much worse off than last night. I really think-"

"Your word, Ez" Vin's voice was firm, the words simply spoken, yet a certain level of expectation echoed them.

Vin was willingly still again beneath his hand, trusting.

His word.

Shit.

Nothing meant more to Vin that the sanctity and honour of his word.

Therefore, Ezra's had to mean the same. Did mean the same.

"Sit. I'll get the thermometer. 102, Mr Tanner", with a look that was unreadable, yet somehow still managed to promise dire consequences should Vin die before he returned, Ezra swiftly left the room, suddenly veering to the left as he remembered that the thermometer had been left in the kitchen the previous evening.

He was back in record time, especially considering he'd taken a detour to fetch his mobile, sure he'd be needing it shortly to call Nathan.

"Right. Shall we proceed?" he handed the thermometer to a much disgruntled Vin, who scowled at him as he uncapped the small thermometer, frowned as he waited for the small electronic chirp that indicated it was prepped, grimaced as he placed it under his tongue and glared at Ezra the entire waiting period.

Swiping the still beeping thermometer from his mouth, Vin looked to the digital readout.

And smiled.

Ezra snatched it from him, manners be dammed, and with a boggled shake of his head, stared at the recoding.

 _102._

"No Nathan, then?" Vin asked with a smirk, as if he'd deliberately skewed the data by withholding his temperature or s-

Ezra stared at him with growing speculation and suspicion for a moment, and then shaking the nonsense from his head he grudgingly agreed, "No Nathan."

Vin grinned with such abandon, that Ezra was sure Nathan would be offended if he'd seen.

"Yet." Ezra added, and watched with no small amount of satisfaction as Vin's smile faded, and wary blue eyes met his.

"Yet? Why-" Vin asked.

Recapping the thermometer, he lightly tapped Vin on the head with it, as he said, "I have reason to believe you are going to become very good friends with Mr thermometer. 'Every 2 hours' type of friends, I should imagine."

Ezra paused in placing the thermometer on Vin's bedside table, taken slightly aback by the absolute look of death the innocent little device was getting. Thinking better of it, he tucked the thermometer into his own pocket and turned back to Vin.

"Sit. Your temperature may be just under mildly worrisome, but I'm afraid I cannot say the same for your physical appearance. To put it mildly Mr Tanner – and in the words of our own illustrious leader, no less…You look like shit."

Vin, successfully distracted from thoughts of thermometer destruction, grinned at mention of Chris, and replied, "'s just a cold. I've had worse. Maybe _you_ should sit, Ez…considering you've told me four times already... and I've been sitting the whole time."

Ezra opened his mouth to argue, but upon realising that Vin was quite correct, setted for simply agreeing, dropping down onto the mattress beside his still grinning friend.

Nudging Vin with his shoulder, Ezra said, "If you could see how you look, you'd be telling yourself to sit. Are you sure you feel- well, like you are not about to expire within the next few moments, because I really do not think my poor heart could take it."

Shoving back with more enthusiasm, Vin answered, "-actually feel a bit better than last night. Headache. Tired. Kinda light headed. I'm good."

Rolling his eyes at the added, 'I'm good' to the end of that sentence, Ezra leaned back, examining his friend a little closer. Keen eyes picked up on the slight sheen of sweat, which could probably be explained by the blanket Vin was still wrapped in. The pale skin looked ghastly, but considering how tan the Texan usually was, it was perhaps a matter of contrast.

Vin definitely looked ill, but not like he was knocking at deaths door, begging to come in.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." Vin quipped, shoulder shoving Ezra again, the wicked gleam in his eyes not hiding his discomfort at the steady scrutiny.

"Is this your best side?" Ezra asked, pulling his phone from his pocket and snapping a quick picture.

Vin just stared for a moment, and then burst into laughter, doubling over slightly as he choked on cough interspersed chuckles.

Ezra grinned, glad to have so thoroughly pulled Vin from his discomfort. Getting to his feet he said, "Some Tylenol for the headache then. And, if you are agreeable, perhaps a few more hours sleep, seeing as how some buffoon woke you earlier by knocking on the door."

Vin screwed his nose up at the offered painkillers, but remembering _his_ word from last night, didn't say anything as Ezra left the room.

Fetching the box of Tylenol from the bathroom cabinet, and a glass of water, Ezra returned, stepping back into Vin's bedroom, just in time to see his friend down the last of _his_ coffee, from the bedside table.

"Wise move, Mr Tanner. If you are trying to _exacerbate_ your headache." Ezra said mildly, hiding his smirk in response to the Vin's slightly guilty but not repentant look.

"Wasn' worth it anyway – tasted like crap. Need ta learn how ta make decent coffee, Ez" was Vin's matter of fact reply.

"Not decent coffee! Decent! That was my imported Italian espresso! You wouldn't know-" Ezra's tirade came to an abrupt stop as he watched Vin's lips twitch and eyes sparkle.

"Mr Tanner, You are without civility. Take your Tylenol." his words were sharp, but the mirth in his green eyes matched Vin's.

* * *

The Texan spent most of the weekend sleeping, staring morosely out the window at the gorgeous, if cold, blue sky and weak sunlight, sniffling, discarding used tissues and hogging Ezra's hot water. In short, he was miserable – intermittently sweltering or chilled, battling a runny nose, coughing up a lung and rasping around the beginnings of a sore throat, but he didn't really get any worse.

Not that Ezra wasn't unfailing reliable in checking his temperature every few hours, yet unfortunately - or fortunately - depending on which man was asked, Vin's temperature stayed at a steady 102, all through Saturday and well into Sunday.

Nathan remained completely unaware, Ezra remained carefully attentive and Vin remained considerably unconcerned.

There were moments of heightened worry, which tested Ezra resolve to hold to his word, so close had he come to calling Nathan.

Vin's coughing fit Saturday evening, during the Monty Python marathon on TV had been particularly terrifying, Ezra sure that he was about to be picking the fibres of his luxurious carpeting from one of Vin's lungs when he hacked it up. Vin had been red in the face, eyes blown wide as he'd tried to gasp a breath in between the coughing. It hadn't helped that he'd also been unable to stop laughing, and gasping _"'s just a flesh wound!"_ as he'd coughed.

Finally, a glass of water and a blast of freezing air from the balcony had done the trick, settling his diaphragm back into its usual pattern.

Monty Python had been exchanged for the tried and true 'Die Hard' and that had been the end of that.

The only other incident that would make his account, should he end up reporting this to Nathan, or god forbid, Chris, was the midnight awakening on Saturday night.

His, that is. Vin had been asleep.

Dreaming.

Whatever had caused the soft whimpers, half muffled by the tiny ball Vin had managed to curl himself into, couldn't possibly be pleasant memories.

Ezra had stared from the doorway contemplating the best course of action. Should he try to wake Vin and comfort him – no, Ezra ultimately decided, Vin's mortification and absolute humiliation would far outweigh the level of comfort he thought he could provide. Chris on the other hand….

Chris. Should he call their leader? With the frequency of Vin's visits to the ranch, there was no way that Chris wouldn't be aware, wouldn't have a method of dealing with this. But again, no, because Ezra wasn't willing to inflict a grieving, angry Chris on an emotionally sensitive Vin, on the minuscule off-chance that he made the situation worse.

In the end, the decision was taken from his hands when Vin seemed to settle, uncurling slightly.

But Ezra added it to his mental list, because if he could work out a way to ask Chris inconspicuously, perhaps he would feel less useless than tits on a bull next time.

Sunday morning, Vin seemed wary at the breakfast table, but soon relaxed when Ezra gave no indication of what he had seen.

As with the sudden easing of the nightmare, Vin's illness seemed to fade as Sunday night approached, most symptom's, including the fever, sniffles and cough had eased off by late Sunday afternoon, and Ezra was glad that he hadn't been inadvertently responsible for enabling another 'chest infection' debacle like the year before last.

Still, the younger man wasn't exactly 100% by Monday morning, still unusually pale, and tiring easily.

Ezra had assumed Vin was still asleep when he'd risen early Monday morning, showered, dressed and scrawled a quick note for his guest. Later he'd wondered how he'd expected anything other than Vin, fully dressed at 8am, to meet him at the door, ready to go to work.

* * *

Ezra arriving at 8:30am, half an hour after their official start time, was nothing to look twice at.

Ezra arriving at 8:30am with Vin, their resident ' _early-riser'_ in tow, caused a bit of a stir among the troops.

Buck was leaning against JD's desk, one hip hitched up, allowing him to rest on the surface. He stared at the pair for a second and then a wide grin broke across his face, turning toward Chris's closed door, he yelled in a rather pretentious voice, "Chris!- Chris? CHRIS!"

A thud was heard, possibly of a coffee cup being slammed down on a hardwood desk, followed by heavy footsteps, the door was flung open, and Chris stalked out, snarling, " _What?!_ "

JD had that deer caught in the headlights look, freezing mid-step on the way back from the break room, only relaxing when he realised that Chris's dark look was directed toward Buck, and not himself.

Josiah looked up from his paperwork, and then promptly tucked his head down and made himself _very_ busy.

Nathan paused in repacking his field first-aid kit, and then, with a shake of his head, added several more bandages to the already staggering amount.

Ezra planted his feet, refusing to be cowed, raising a haughty eyebrow that was sure to _not_ sooth Chris's ire.

Vin, having the self-preservation of a mayfly, and the sense of a lemming, sniggered, but his gaze was entrenched firmly on the smiling face of the equally insane Buck.

The ladies' man grinned, and with an overdramatic gesture towards Ezra and Vin, his voice smarmy as he tattled, "Chris! Travesty! Oh, tragedy! Ezra has corrupted our young Vin. He has made Vin late. _Vin._ _Late."_

Chris's look seemed to darken if possible, and he turned towards the two in question, "Well. With him I have given up cause to hope. You, on the other hand. Late, Vin?"

All brave amusement fled as Vin realized that he was being put on the spot. No way he could admit that he'd been sick, not told anyone, had Ezra find out, stayed at Ezra's, not told anyone, run a 102 degree temp all weekend and then come to work this morning.

"Mr Tanner had yet another dispute with his reticent vehicle this morning, and came out on the losing side. I was simply tasked with conveying Mr Tanner to our place of work." Ezra injected smoothly, drawing Chris's attention to him and away from the man who was both his and Chris's best friend.

Vin looked obviously relieved, which should have given Chris his first clue, but it said a lot for the man's state of mind that he simply nodded with a dark look, and turned back to his office, throwing over his shoulder, "Well, call next time!", and slammed the door behind him.

Heavy silence settled over the outer office, the five men looking from the shut door, to each other and back again.

Chris's muffled shout of "Get back to work!" encouraged them into motion.

JD shoved Buck off his desk as he sat, and the big man slipped around and slid into his own seat, reaching for a file with a vaguely apologetic look Vin and Ezra's way.

Nathan sighed, added a third pair of tweezers and started counting anti-bacterial wipes.

Josiah just kept his head down, focused on his paper work, half of which he thankfully handed off to Ezra as the agent passed his and Nathan's area.

Ezra added the purloined paperwork to his own dwindling pile, sitting and reaching for the uppermost form.

Vin headed for the break room and _real coffee._

* * *

The others had spent the morning being relatively well behaved and miraculously quiet, mostly out of deference to their boss's black mood. Paper work was churned out at a frankly alarming rate.

Vin spent the majority of the morning avoiding drawing Nathan's attention to himself, keeping his head down over the paperwork he really didn't touch, wondering if maybe he should have just stayed home. Chris was in a foul mood, and it would be anyone's guess how long that would last, and what was he torturing himself for anyway- it wasn't as if the man would _care_ if Vin didn't show u-

Okay. So that wasn't true. Vin knew that Chris cared, but surely it wouldn't kill the man to look at Vin and see that his best friend wasn't exactly feeling on top of the w-

What on earth was he thinking? He _didn't_ want Chris to know he'd been sick. He _didn't._

Besides, if he'd stayed home that morning, or as the case may be, Ezra's home, he'd have had to call in sick this morning anyway, and then it would have all been for nothing.

Nope, best just to avoid Nathan and let Chris avoid everyone.

It was then that Vin's gut dropped to his toes in a foreboding sense of instinctual, "got a bad feeling about something" way, and the phone on Ezra's desk rang.

The 'undercover' phone.

* * *

The phone rang again, and with barely a glance of preparation to the others, Ezra clicked the speaker button.

"Looking for Rick Stonton", said a deep gravelly voice.

At the sound of the man's voice, the other five watched in disturbed fascination as _their_ 'Ezra' disappeared before their very eyes.

The undercover agents face went alarmingly blank, eyes closed and body still, and he held the clean slate for a second, before quickly hunching over just a bit and tilted his head slightly to the left instead of his usual right.

He opened his eyes to reveal cold, hard _glacial_ green, in a pinched and mean looking face.

Ezra answered, his voice dripping disdainful oil, "Its _Eric_ , Mr Sholn. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The voice came back, slightly more respectful, "Eric then. Boss wants to know if you're still interested in moving a crate."

Ezra scrawled on a pad by the phone as he answered, "I _may_ be interested…surely you can understand my hesitance though. Not three weeks ago I was informed that such a thing would be an impossibility."

He shoved the note at Josiah.

It read ' _Get Chris.'_

Josiah moved, his sizable frame silent as he rushed over to Chris's door, entering without knocking. It was easily apparent why Chris's law enforcement abilities were so well respected, when, despite his mood, he merely looked up when Josiah barged in. With one glance at the note he followed the man into the outer office without a word.

Moving around to the far side of the table so Ezra could see him without having to crane awkwardly, Chris nodded to show he was ready for whatever Ezra needed.

The voice on the phone was speaking, "-had a potential customer prove _disloyal_ and refused to do business with him. Zander Donnelly suggested you. Are you in, or do I need to tell Keir- uh. I mean, um- Do we need to look elsewhere? "

Chris's eyebrows shot up at the man's near stumble, naming his boss on an open connection, because surely that name hadn't been- Ezra scribble on the pad again, and Chris read upside down as he did so. ' _Trask.'_

Chris felt his pulse jump, adrenaline suddenly flooding his body.

The Trask Family.

One of Colorado's most prolific crime organisations; the Trask family was a multi-tiered, cleverly-immersed criminal element, with an extremely well-funded baseline, allowing a hand in everything from credit card fraud to drug trafficking.

A sprawling web of interconnected criminal elements, each with its niche in the market wound up like an insect, waiting to be bled dry. And at the centre of this sticky web of money, blood and death, sat the spider - Damon Oliver Trask.

The eldest son of a well-to-do family, Damon Trask had been handed everything in life on a silver platter – up to and including the humble beginnings of a modest crime organisation.

From those humble beginnings, he'd built an empire.

An empire that various bureau's had been trying to topple for the past 10 years, with little to no success. Only by severing the head of the beast would it ever truly die, and Damon Trask; through a volatile mix of shrewdness and cruelty, had proved time and time again, to be untouchable.

Until now.

Because if Chris was correctly deducing the one sided conversation, they were about to bust Kieran Onsk. If intel was correct, Onsk was the recently appointed, right hand man to Damon Trask himself, and most notably, also Trask's only child.

Perhaps the untested heir was the way to unseat the King.

Ezra scrawled something else as he spoke into the phone, "No need to look elsewhere. When and where?"

 _'_ _B & B warrants.'_

Chris nodded, his suspicions confirmed – Ezra was organising a buy.

Flipping Ezra's notebook open fully, and putting pen to the newly revealed page, Chris started a list of required administrative and practical procedures, his hand bumping Ezra's as they wrote on the mirrored pages.

He stilled his writing as Ezra tapped his pen pointedly against his own side, indicating with just his eyes that whatever he'd written was of great importance, and a raised eyebrow showing that he required his team leader's sanction to proceed.

 _'_ _Tonight – 11pm – Docks'_

Chris grimaced.

A bust of this importance really necessitated several days, if not weeks, of preparation and planning. Time to dot all the i's and cross all the t's. Time to assess the ramifications of the team's formation, and make an educated decision as to the players. Time to allow Ezra to immerse himself fully in his undercover persona.

Half thinking through the measures needed to sanction a bust on such short notice, Chris tried to determine if it was even possible. Deciding, with the right team and right back-up, that it was, it all boiled down to one other thing.

Did he trust his team?

Chris nodded, giving Ezra the green light.

* * *

The office was an organised cacophony of sound and movement; phone conversations held in assured, confident voices and physical preparation in the form of flack vest fittings, communication device tests, and first aid and equipment checks.

Chris hit send on the last of the required paperwork, watching as the fax sent the 'URGENT Interdepartmental Notice: Bust and Buy Warrant. ATF (Team 7) & 'K. Onsk' (Trask Corp.)', informing all other bureaus, as well as police and marshal departments, of the impending buy and subsequent bust, so that if another department happen to be either monitoring, or stumble across the buy, the chances of friendly fire decreased.

Checking the received notice, Chris filed the final copy, before stepping into the outer office. Seating himself at Bucks desk, he waited expectantly, as one by one, his men filed into formation in front of him, most standing or leaning against desks.

Josiah was the last, patiently completing a phone conversation before moving across the room to join the others.

Once all six sets of eyes were directed towards him, Chris, his dark mood completely replaced by deadly calm efficiency, started to reason out their best option for the response team.

As the mind behind whatever elaborate cover story they were using, as well as the agent most in the spotlight, Chris put the first ball in Ezra's court, asking, "Ezra, you've got the buy – what backup do you think you can get away with? I'd prefer you go in with at least two."

Ezra looked up from his contemplation of the ring on his left hand, a sneer in place as he answered, "I hardly think it will be necessary, however it wouldn't be untoward for someone such as _Eric Stanton_ to have two bodyguards."

Chris didn't comment on the tone, nor the haughty mannerisms, understanding that Ezra was already 'submerging'. 'Submerging' was the agent's term for the mental process he went through when donning a disguise, and the ring was the most integral part – an ugly corruption of twisted black tungsten and copper wiring, the ring served as his 'focus'. While wearing it, he was not Ezra.

Nodding, Chris looked over his men, mind rapidly settling size/threat level ratios, before he asked, "This Kieran – does he have any racial prejudices?"

Raising an eyebrow, Ezra answered, "I doubt he'll have prejudices against Mr Jacksons 6'4, Doubly so if Mr Jackson is supported by our 6'2 supremely _white_ Mr Wilmington."

Nodding, Chris turned to the men in question, saying, "Nathan and Buck will go in as your bodyguards. Vin-"

"I'll be in the rafters." Vin cut in, his blue gaze heavy on Ezra, _daring_ the undercover agent to disagree.

Ezra's reply was as dry as the Sahara desert, and twice as empty, " _Naturally_ ".

Chris raised an eyebrow at the byplay, but saw Ezra's fingers twirling the mess of metal about his finger and put it down to the agent trying to stay in character when faced with his best friend stepping into danger.

Which was the point Chris addressed next, turning to Vin, he said, "There's a possibility that the warehouse is already being watched. Your sneaking in could blow the op." He held up a hand when Vin started to argue, adding, "I'm not going to send them in without close contact back up though, so you're a go, just be careful."

Vin nodded, swallowing against the tickle in his throat as he answered, "I'll leave now, get set up as early as possible."

Chris nodded his agreement, replying, "Take Josiah as back up until you're sure it's clear. JD, Josiah and I'll be in the Van."

Josiah was nodding, but JD looked like he wanted to argue, despite knowing the lead up to an unplanned bust wasn't the place.

"What, JD?" Chris' prompted, quite willing to listen to whatever the young man wanted to say, knowing that JD's youth didn't lessen his contribution value, although it did lessen his confidence in his own value.

JD quibbled for a second longer before fairly bursting out, "The Fraleu Case – You said I needed to start getting some bust experience."

Chris raised an eyebrow, he remember the conversation, and JD was right _he had_ said that JD was ready to start taking a participative role in some of their more low key busts. _Low key_ being the operative phrase. "It's not the right bust JD – You're not quite seasoned enough to pull off the deadly killer bodyguard yet. Something less-"

JD cut him off, "No! I know that – they'd never take me seriously as a bodyguard. I meant I could take Vin's place. I'm getting really good – even Vin says so."

Chris was silent for a second, thinking. It was true that JD had been setting some serious hours with Vin on the range, and even more alone. And hadn't it been just the other day that Vin himself had said the kid was actually a talented marksman. It was to be a small bust, three to five expected felons, and with most expected to give themselves up at the first sign of law enforcement.

It was a reasonable request, and Chris went to say as such, but Vin's quiet voice broke the silence first, "No. Not this one."

All six men turned to look at Vin, and JD replied, "But Vin, I ca-"

Uncharacteristically rude, Vin cut the younger man off, his voice firm in its refusal, "No. I'm doing this one. " His steadfast refusal to back down, and his complete lack of discomfort at their bamboozled staring was strongly indicative of the truth in his feelings on the matter.

Chris thought about cutting in, deciding for them, but bonds were often strengthened through controlled dispute, and it was very unusual for these two to clash at all, let alone for Vin to be so unreserved in the effect of his opinion.

AT Vin's seeming lack of willingness to listen to reason, JD changed tack, and aiming at what was usually a much truer target when attempting to sway Vin, _his conscience_ , JD said heatedly, "Were you just saying that I'm good? That I'm getting even better!? Just stoking my inflated ego! Come on Vin, I can do this! You know I-"

Vin didn't rile, anger or shout back, but he certainly didn't back down, replying firmly "I said what I meant. You're good. Good 'nough for this bust. I. Don't. Care. You're not goin'."

JD gaped at what he thought was wholly unreasonable behaviour, and the expressions on several other faces said the young man wasn't alone in his thinking.

JD opened his mouth to shoot something back, but Chris interrupted him by grabbing Vin by the arm and ushering him over to the window, where a very short, _very tense_ conversation took place.

JD saw the instant Chris came down on Vin's side and he shot a dirty glare at the sharpshooter. It was odd though, because instead of anger or smugness, the look he received in return seemed more _relieved_ than anything else.

The two re-joined the rest of the group, Chris saying, "Ezra's got the buy. Nathan and Buck- body guards and Vin on high. JD and Josiah in the van with me."

JD looked down, disappointed and upset, but not willing to take it any further. No one argued with Chris when he spoke like that.

Except maybe Buck, but then, Buck was Chris's oldest friend, and surely that allowed him some leeway. Nathan might also argue with Chris - regardless of how he spoke- if the man was injured. Josiah had a way of arguing without actually arguing, and by the time the conversation ended, it was almost like whatever opinion the preacher held was the same one Chris had held all along. Ezra would argue with a fence post if he thought it might get him what he wanted. And Vin was insane enough to call Chris 'Cowboy', and more importantly, _get away with it-_ he'd argue with Chris if he wanted to.

Well, JD didn't argue with Chris when he spoke like that.

* * *

Nathan crossed his arms across his chest with the express intent of making himself appear even bigger than his already ample girth managed. Intimidation was a fine art, and despite not being one he was well practised in, it was one that came naturally, thanks to his sheer physical presence.

Like every bad movie, the buy was going down in the shadiest part of the city, in what had to be the most disgustingly foul, rat infested, dock warehouse in the country.

Standing two feet behind, and one to the left of Ezra, Nathan had an unobstructed view of everything that was occurring in the grimy filth of the badly lit warehouse.

Buck was mirroring his own position to Ezra's right, also effecting a much darker than normal persona. The jovial smile was replaced with pressed lips, and the sparkle was gone from his eyes, creating a façade of grim intensity. If Nathan hadn't see that thin mouth break wide in torment and teasing, hadn't seen them impart complete nonsense upon expecting teammates, and the (very) occasional words of wisdom…he'd be completely taken in by the dangerous persona Buck was exuding.

Nathan himself had opted for more the lower end of the market. It was easier to be overlooked observing, when said observation was mistaken as mindless head lolling. The best way to achieve mindless lolling was for everyone to think you were dimmer than a blown light bulb. Nathan knew with certainty that his carefully unfocused and widened eyes, as well as the heavily dropped jaw made for a very dull looking face, because Ezra had been the one to teach him the technique.

Speaking of Ezra, the other agent wasn't doing too sloppily in the _dangerous_ category either, but it was a different type of dangerous; one that his 5'10 frame didn't have to maintain. The persona of _Eric Stanton_ was that of a slippery snake that would sooner turn and strike than hide in some dark corner somewhere. The sharply cut suit was completely unlike what Ezra would choose for himself, the lines much too severe to accommodate any measure of kindness, and his hair was severely slicked back, changing the shape of his entire face, leaving him angular and almost gaunt looking.

The chill in the green eyes, and the coldness of his bearing were all Ezra though, and not for the first time, Nathan was stunned at the talent the undercover agent possessed.

And looking at the character Ezra was currently tangling with, Nathan was thankful that Ezra was so good at his job.

Kieran Onsk was an ugly, ugly man. And Nathan didn't mean his stylishly cut black hair, smoothly chiselled features or young, well cared for body.

Nathan meant his eyes.

Flat, pale, grey, and if the eyes truly were the window to one's soul, than this man didn't have one.

And for the first time that evening, Nathan was so very glad that Vin was the one in the rafters above them.

Nathan had been all for allowing JD to get some hands on experience during a bust. He already trusted the young man with his life, and knew that he could take Vin's confidence in JD's ability to handle a rifle to the bank.

There would also have been the added bonus of not having an already unwell Vin shivering in the frigid early December air.

The medic almost snorted as he thought about how obvious the younger man had been in his quest to avoid Nathan all morning. The avoidance was what had alerted Nathan to the fact that something was amiss. Vin was usually unfailingly polite, and to have him suddenly ignoring Nathan's every attempt at conversation, practically running from the room in one case, had drawn his attention rather than distract it.

He'd seen that Vin was unwell from almost the moment he'd arrived in the office with Ezra. High colour at the cheeks, and a sweep of slight paleness over the rest of his face a telling enough sign for someone intimately familiar with the form of Vin's medical ailments. Someone like Nathan.

He'd let it go, because contrary to popular belief, he _wasn't_ anyone's mother, and certainly wasn't responsible for his teammates with more stubbornness than good sense.

Vin also hadn't been coughing, his eyes had been clear and Nathan had seen the Tylenol that Ezra had pressed upon the younger man as he'd passed the break room at one stage.

When he'd first stepped into the frigidly cold warehouse, his second thought had been to wonder if he maybe should have insisted that Vin stay in the van for this one, only too aware of the susceptibility of the Texan's ridiculous lungs.

His first thought had been 'Damn it's cold.'

Before he'd even had time to think about thinking about maybe letting Chris in on his thoughts, already imagining Vin's utter fury, the other door had opened and Onsk and his men had arrived, and to work they'd gone.

Right now, _Eric Stanton_ was in the middle of 'checking' the merchandise, while Onsk waited with alarming patience.

Nathan subconsciously geared up, drawing his slightly wandering thoughts tightly back home, focusing intently on what was happening before him, knowing that Ezra was getting close to closing the deal and giving the signal that would bring the rest of the team down on them like avenging furies.

He pinpointed the biggest threat on the opposite side of the buy, a huge bear of a man, whose hand had sat on the butt of his gun during the entire proceedings. He was also, alarmingly, the closest to Ezra. Nathan sized him up and dismissed him, knowing that Vin's sights would already be on the most dangerous, he selected a second target, this time a rat of a man to Ezra's far left, directly mirroring Nathan's own stance.

With nine others as back up, the predicted five felons had proven a grave misestimate, but Nathan was still confident that with careful execution, the Seven could handle what was about to come.

Which was why, as Ezra shook hands with Onsk and moved to handoff a briefcase, the roared shout of "FBI FREEZE!" was a particularly unwelcome spanner in the works.

* * *

To say things went 'to hell in a handbasket' would have been seriously understating things.

The crack of gunfire echoed the cacophony of shouting, and suddenly bullets were flying every which way. From the corner of his eye, Nathan saw Buck drop to the ground, his hand coming up to rest over his head in the universal sigh of 'surrender', and Nathan prepared to do the same, rather than risk exasperating the situation.

And then he saw that Onsk, the clever, viscous bastard, had managed to find himself a human shield.

And of course, that human was Ezra.

Keeping his hands well clear of gun at the small of his back, not wanting to risk one of the good guys shooting him on the 'gun in hand' principal, Nathan edged closer to where Onsk was dragging a valiantly resisting Ezra towards the door.

A warning wasn't going to work. Shouting for Onsk to 'give in' wasn't going to cut it, not with the level of noise that echoed in the bullet riddled warehouse, and not over the shouting that was coming intermittently over his radio as the ATF team desperately tried to locate the Feeb's channel.

The rifle bullet kicking up concrete dust between Kieran's feet seemed to do the trick, though and he froze, gaze shooting upwards, just as a second bullet smashed a light bulb directly above his head, and shattered glass rained to the ground in a startling cascade of glinting sharpness.

Ezra used distraction to smash his elbow into Kieran Onsk's nose, and dive toward Nathan.

The crackling haze of his radio suddenly flared into a full audio accounting of the disaster of a bust, JD having apparently hacked into the FBI channel. His voice easily overwhelming the nasally undertone of whoever was speaking on behalf of the FBI, Chris's demanded firmly, "ATF & FBI – fall back immediately."

Sidling toward where Buck was in the hands of two idiots with 'FBI' emblazoned jackets, Nathan snarled as he found himself equally corralled by a third idiot. Knowing they had to get out of the firefight ASAP, he allowed the indignity of being shoved toward the nearest exit, his fist clenched in expensive silk reassuring him that Ezra was being dragged along in their wake.

Surprised at the lack of bullets kicking up dust around them, or heaven forbid, biting into their flesh, Nathan chanced a look back, and grinned with exasperated gratitude.

The medic nudged Ezra, and gestured upwards, whispering, "Angel on high". Ezra's eyes joined his as they reached the door, watching Vin scamper across an inch wide rafter, covering their retreat as he moved steadily towards his own exit, a hole in the roof at the far end of the warehouse.

And then, in an instant of a moment, of a lifetime, everything changed.

One gunshot seemed to echo louder than the rest, and a kaleidoscope of emotion ate through Nathan and devoured Ezra.

Because Angels fall too.


	2. Empty

ATF Windbreaker fluttering with appropriate menace, Chris wished the main foyer of the Denver FBI headquarters had doors that he could slam open for adequate gravitas (there was something about making the panes of glass rattle in their frames), but had to be satisfied with the 'whoosh' of the electronic sliding doors parting way before him.

The immediate three-foot radius surrounding him dropped a solid 10 degrees as he stalked toward the leftmost corridor, and Chris would have been hard-pressed to stifle his amusement if it weren't for the anger and concern that fought for dominance beneath his skin.

Although, the intern stepping out of one of the nearby offices stumbling backward and overturning a trash bin, and the young woman to their right upending the cup of coffee she was carrying in her haste to get out of his way did wonders to soothe his ire.

All idle chatter and movement slowed as people backed out of the way of the oncoming storm that was the ATF Leader on the warpath.

 _He still had it_.

Catching sight of their reflection in a tinted glass wall of an office as they passed, Chris suddenly didn't find all the tripping and stumbling to get out of their way to be that much of an over-reaction. With Josiah and JD slightly behind him, positioned at each shoulder, they made for very odd bookends, but the steely darkness on both faces leached any humor from the sight as they matched Chris's pace.

Chris could feel the same thunder rumbling beneath his own stormy exterior, and didn't blame the underlings and government minions for side-stepping something that was obviously well above their pay-packet.

A quick flash of his badge subdued the uncomfortable security guards and he lead the way into the interior FBI lobby, storming passed the frazzled looking receptionist without so much as a glance, ignoring the click of her heels on tile, and the high pitched demands for them to stop.

The firstmost door had the word 'DIRECTOR' emblazoned in a bold golden script and Chris didn't bother to knock, shoving the door open, allowing it to ricochet off the wall behind.

The portly gentleman in his off-the-rack suit shot to his feet behind his desk, bluster already visible as his walrus mustache bristled beneath his affronted snort, "What is the meaning of-"

Chris cut him off, pulling his voice down to a quiet steady rumble, despite the underlying steel, "Larabee, ATF. I want my men behind be within one minute, and the puffed-up shirt who's responsible for this mess front and center in two."

The Feeb, seemingly the FBI's version of Orrin Travis, for lack of a better comparison (wanting though it was), coughed awkwardly and made a weak attempt at charming Chris into a more agreeable frame of mind, "Oh, absolutely, Agent Larabee. Director John Grift, it's a pleasure- Your men are just fine. I've yet to debrief our agents, but I assure you-"

Chris, adept (sort-of) at handling Ezra Standish at his most placating and effusively charming, immediately dismissed the weak attempt at misdirection, interrupting, "Grift, I don't want your assurances, I want my men. Then I want some damn sensibility to explain what the hell happened today-"

 **"I'll tell you what happened today, you assholes cost us the collar of half the biggest damn crime family in Denver!- "** The disembodied voice echoed in from the hall and Chris smiled, all shark-teeth and drawn back lips.

 _Just the person he was looking for._

Tipping his imaginary hat to the rather flummoxed looking Director, Chris left the office, watching as JD politely pulled the door closed behind himself.

Josiah and JD a bare step behind, Chris turned to find the mouth that owned the snarling voice.

It wasn't difficult; a tall rangy man who face, blotchy with rage, clashed horribly with his shock of carrot orange hair, was storming up the hall towards them. Furious spittle flew as he lit into Chris, coming to stand toe to toe with the ATF agent.

Josiah winced and JD took a subtle step backward.

Chris raised an eyebrow and looked down his nose, despite looking upward across a height difference of several feet, voice quiet and deadly polite as he asked "...And you are?"

He saw no need to introduce himself. If this pretentious jackass didn't know who's face his spittle was flying at, more fool him. And if he did know... well.

 _Fool._

"...Agent Michaelson." the man answered haltingly, clearly a little thrown by Chris's non-aggressive, yet steady reply, obviously used to people immediately folding beneath the wave of his considerable vitriol.

Chris sighed, allowing just a fraction of the bridled disgust and antipathy for this particular asshole to seep into his voice as he answered, "Well, Agent Michaelson. We gave intercompany notice months ago, as a courtesy, and requested any relating cases either be made known for collaboration of resources, or at least general awareness. What, exactly prompted your 'bust' this afternoon? Because we haven't been made aware of anything even remotely close to evidence enough to warrant an arrest. "

Michaelson started to turn a rather fetching shade of puce as the questions began to flow, and immediately tried to deflect, firing back, "Well, by the same note, what the hell prompted yours! Three years! Three years we've been sitting on Trask, and I'll be dead and buried if you hotshots are going to swoop in and claim credit for three years of undercover work!"

Chris blinked.

He was only vaguely aware of JD wincing loudly, almost comically cartoon-like, as the younger sidled to the left to be concealed partly behind Josiah's ample frame. He could practically see the older suppressing the urge to pray for man's own folly.

Chris fumed; the seething quiet heat of the dormant volcano exploding into an almost speechless fury as he took a half step closer, voice dropping below scathing as he hissed, "This-This was about credit? About who got to wave the flag of glorious victory?! What the hell kind of-"

Michaelson scrambled desperately to regain control of a situation that he didn't seem to realize he'd never possessed in the first place, screeching **"It's our bust. I'll damn w-**! "

" **There was no bust, you idiotic asshole! We had them done to rights on gun traffic-** " Chris shouted right back, closing the distance between them as he clenched his fists in a rather reluctant grasp for control, wanting nothing more than to start tearing strips-

But he needed to find out what had actually happened first. And find out where his men were being kept.

 _Then strip tearing could commence._

Michaelson cut him off, jumping onto that tidbit of information like a gleeful over bloated toad on a rotting insect carcass, practically guffawing with mockery, "Gun trafficking! You were going to take them in on trafficking charges! Damn amateurs! They'd walk this time tomorrow. I don't know what sort of idiots you've got on your team, but we've been working three years and haven't even got enough- "

JD stared at the ceiling, an almost helpless giggle of incredulous humor escaping as Chris felt Josiah tense, and wondered whether he should be concerned that Josiah thought he might be going to have to intervene. Or more worried than Josiah might actually have to intervene.

 _The nerve. The sheer nerve._

Chris said as much. "Shut. Up. What we had gone far enough up the line to put Damon Trask himself away." He managed to force himself back into that quiet bubbling rage of a definitely not-dormant monster, simply waiting for one more excuse as he explained, "Those idiots? Those idiots put away The Charlton Mob. Brought the whole syndicated brotherhood down. Those idiots achieved more in three weeks than your entire taskforce over three years! Open your mouth about my men again…." Chris left the threat hanging.

Michaelson gave Chris a once over, eyes raking the ATF emblazoned coat, the head-to-toe black ensemble, the close-cut blond hair, the shards of fiery green that glared at him and the gears in his head were damn near visible as he took the puzzle pieces he'd been given and finally bothered to put them together.

And realized he'd well and truly put his foot in it.

Michaelson's awkward cough was music to soothe the beast, as he tried his best to change the subject and move on subtly, "Uh. Well- Regardless, The Trask Family is hip deep in people smuggling, child pornography, black market organ trade-"

Chris, calming almost immediately at the prospect of finally getting somewhere, rather than just locking horns, (also a skill likely attributed to their southern agent) explained somewhat patiently, "What does it matter if it's a paper cut or decapitation, so long as it kills him just as dead! I'm not out for your blood, just Trask's, so stop trying to cover your ass and work with us!"

Michaelson's face slowly regained a little of his previous redness, color returning after his near heart-attack from realizing just who he was attempting to verbally flambe, spoke somewhat hesitantly, "…I'll concede to being a little….hasty. But your men-"

And that there was the point, wasn't it? Exactly what Chris wanted to know. "Good, glad you brought them up. Great. Where the hell are they?" he demanded and made it crystal clear that he'd discuss nothing further until his demand for his team had been answered.

Michealson, seemingly cowed, any previous back-bone disintegrated, nodded as he replied placatingly "They're fine. Real quiet bunch though. If you'll wait in here-" he gestured towards an empty office to his left, continuing, "I'll just go get them-"

"You do that." Chris interrupted the pointless drivel, and Josiah sighed heavenward at his bosses obvious taunting of the other agent. Chris couldn't care less.

Especially not when Michaelson all but pouted, turning away to skulk back down the corridor, disappearing around the corner. Ostensibly to retrieve Chris's missing men.

Besides, JD had snorted in amusement from his other side.

* * *

Lounging against the cleared desk in the middle off the otherwise empty, obviously unused office space, Chris glanced at his watch, sighing at the 5:23 am time-stamp.

The paperwork on this one was going to be a bitch. He'd hoped they'd have time to scatter to for showers and a few hours to recharge before meeting back at the office at 8 am. A hope that was looking less and less like it had any chance of being realized. By the time they sorted out this whole snafu with the FBI... god, they hadn't actually arrested his men, had they? That paperwork always sucked.

Chris didn't even know if the bust had been in any way successful. Although just going by Michaelson's piss-poor attitude it seemed highly unlikely. The big fish had probably escaped the sure-hook, yet again.

Chris didn't have the energy to join in JD and Josiah's breakfast oriented conversation. He just wanted sleep.

His men. Then sleep.

Thankfully, the door opening seemed to herald the arrival of the first, Chris standing straight and pulling his 'bad element' mask back into play. For a few more minutes, anyway.

"Report!" he barked, almost before Ezra had stepped into the room, and Chris took a moment to revel in the startled eyes that swept up to meet his. It was a rare day indeed when his acting fooled even Agent Standish-

He didn't want any rumors surfacing of a gentled demeanor, even towards his own men. Protective? Hell yes. Soft? Not in this lifetime. He had a reputation to maintain.

The 'Fussin' and bother'n' could come later. Damn Texan.

Nathan stepped into the room behind the undercover-operative, and Chris blinked, somewhat perplexed. Why was the medic maintaining his cover? The deep-set eyes dim with little spark of life or passion, intelligence barely registering-

He'd have his reasons, Chris was sure- and he wasn't about to call on them in front of the very people Nathan was holding cover before.

And then he saw Buck.

And just Buck.

Bucklin, whom Chris had known for what felt like longer than forever. Knew better than he knew himself in some ways.

Buck, who looked a raw word away from crumbling where he stood. Sickly grey pallor to his skin, eyes red-rimmed and sunken. The hand he brought up to cover his mouth as he met Chris's eyes, trembled.

And suddenly Nathan's hooded eyes were Nathans own, but not as Chris had ever seen them; darkened with grief and heartache.

And Ezra's startled glance grew to be a look dragged from blankness, inner turmoil and guilt shattered momentarily by a familiar unexpected voice.

They all looked wrecked.

And no one else was coming through the door.

At least, no one who mattered.

Just Michaelson.

Nathan stumbled, JD and Josiah moving before Chris registered himself rounding on Michealson, all semblance of reason and calm lost as he deliberately ignored what three faces are telling him. What the suspicious fourth absence must mean.

 **"** _Wh…where is he?! Where-_ **"** Chris couldn't stop himself shoving passed Michaelson to step into the hallway as if expecting to find Vin camped out in the corridor, long legs crossed at the ankle, hat drawn down over his eyes. He'd lift the damn thing, eye Chris innocently and mutter, "Howdy, Cowboy. All this damn beurocratin's givin' me a headache- "

"W-who?" Michaelson questioned, stepping into the empty hallway in Chris's wake, voice thoroughly bamboozled.

 _Chris couldn't say it._

From behind them, Ezra tried to say something but his usually perfect eloquence was beyond unintelligible, so choked with raw bleeding emotion as to be physically painful.

" _Vin._.. Vin. " And that was Buck, just that one word, choked and forced by the sheer power of having experienced such grief before.

It was all in that one word, the loss, the fury, the grief, and disbelief. The agony.

Vin was gone.

And for the second time in his life, Chris felt his world drop away beneath him, reason and rationality crumbling to dust around him-

Then he forcefully shoved it back. Past the best friend. Beneath the younger brother. Beyond the soul that mirrored his own.

Vin Tanner wasn't a terrified mother. Or a helpless child.

Vin Tanner was a highly trained, incredibly resourceful and extremely lucky ATF agent.

Vin wasn't gone.  
Wasn't dead.

 _Chris knew. Would know._

****************************************  
The drive back to the warehouse was a hazy fogged mess that Chris would never remember in its entirety, just vague recollections.

Of confirming that the area was an active crime scene under the FBI's jurisdiction. That there had been three FBI agents injured in the firefight, but no fatalities so far. Chris had confirmed their identities. Only two of the mob underlings had been secured in the ensuing chaos. Chris had confirmed their identities. Onsk and his remaining men had fled, and they'd carried out most of their injured and dead, leaving only one downed mob member in the warehouse. Chris had confirmed his identity.

 _None of them had been Vin._

He'd recall JD refusing to allow anyone else behind the wheel- stating with such confidence that he was fine, that Vin was fine, that they'd all be fine that Chris let him. His own hands too clammy to hold the wheel steady anyway.

Ezra growing steadily paler each mile closer to the site, of finally accepting the paper bag that Nathan dragged from the box beneath the seat, violently expelling the contents of his stomach. It didn't help his pallor any.

Nathan, it seemed, allowing his ability to assist the others to consume his every other emotion, finding solace in thinking only of what he could do to help, instead of his actual helplessness.

Josiah praying. Eyes closed, fervent murmuring interspersed with apologies and promises and pleading. Chris desperately lent his own non-believing heart to the hope that someone was listening.

And coaxing, forcing, begging Buck to walk him through those last few unknown moments from within the warehouse.

"Tell Me" -

"We were all in place- Vin was smarting off about his harness, so I know he had it on…Ez was just starting his spiel and then the feebs showed up and it all went to hell. Vin was covering us. If he hadn't been up there..."

"Buck."

"-We made it out the side door. He was headed towards the attic window. An exit point, I think. I thought we were home and hosed. I looked back..…"

"Buck."

"They shot him down."

"…."

"He fell…"

"…Was he alive?"

"…"

"Buck. **Was. He. Alive?"**

"I – I really don't know."

Chris was grasping that 'I don't know' with every ounce of his strength.  
'I don't know' meant it wasn't no.

* * *

They'd stood silently outside the alley entrance of the warehouse for much longer than was explainable as anything other than cowardice; the unknown more comforting than the fear of what they might find inside.

Eventually though, as sunlight began to peak over the warehouse roof, Chris had shoved aside the crime-scene tape and pushed the door open, the rusted hinges creaking and groaning in protest. One by one, they filed in.

The cavernous interior space was poorly lit during the daylight hours, the filthy skylights overhead letting in only the most persistent reaches of the sun, but didn't require the night vision equipment of the evening before.

Gloomy light setting the scene, Chris forced himself to look around, to take in the space with an investigators eye.

Interspersed with the yellow and black boldness of the crime scene markers and tape lines, overturned boxes and broken pallets dotted the floor space, and thin beams of light drilled in through eastward facing holes-

Bullet holes. Bullet holes shredded everything; the walls, remnants of towering piles of decrepit cardboard boxes and even (worryingly) the roof and skylights above.

The floor was pockmarked by gunpowder residue, more bullet furrows, and scuff marks.

Most alarmingly though, were the glossy pools of maroon wetness, staining the floors and spraying the walls, all helpfully marked by the FBI investigators numbered markers.

And lit by the wide beam of warm golden light shining strongly through the only missing skylight was the length of triple-coil nylon freefall cording, with its black harness still attached by blackened carabiners.

Swaying gently a few feet over a horrifyingly large pool of ruby-red blood.

 _Empty._


End file.
